Mayhem (2 page)

I could be
in love with Krystal Bentley. In fact, I think I am. The million-dollar question is does she feel the same way about me? I feel like I've loved her forever when I know its really just been a few months since I met her.

Sasha talks about how different she and her boyfriend Antoine Watson are, but I swear you can't tell. Those two are so in tune with each other you'd think they were born to be together. I wonder if that's possible. If there's only one person born to be with another in the universe. If so, is Krystal the person for me?

I guess Sasha means she and Twan are different because she has lots of money and he doesn't. Or it might be because she's Latina and Twan's black. If that's the case, Krystal's black and I'm just white. I think her family is better off than mine, but not just in terms of money. My dad makes decent money, enough to take care of us and all Pop Pop's medical bills. We just don't have a lot of extras. Their house is bigger and her stepdad's a big shot at the company where he works. But the biggest difference between us and the one that I think of most is that Krystal has her mom. As much as they've had their ups and downs since moving here, her mom has always been there for her. And now they're spending all this time together in church. Okay, that probably sounds like I'm against church
but it's really not like that. What bothers me is that Krystal has a mom to spend time with. And I don't.

I think the consensus is that boys need their fathers, and I don't doubt that. I'm glad my dad's in my life. But there's always been something missing, like a part of me walked out the door when my mom did. I don't know if she meant it to be that way, but it was. I give the impression that my life's been okay without her—me and Dad do. But it's a lie. Our lives, where she's concerned, are a lie.

For years I blamed myself, wondering what I could have possibly done to chase my mother away. Maybe I didn't clean my room enough. She was always after me about making up my bed and putting my shoes in the closet. I was just a messy kid, so I ignored her. And I never ate broccoli. The more she cooked it, the more I shoved it under my shirtsleeve and dumped it out afterward. I hated how it looked and smelled and wanted to barf at the idea of putting it in my mouth, let alone chewing and swallowing it. Could that have finally pushed her over the edge?

I'm older now, so I think her leaving because her kid wouldn't eat broccoli is about as likely as Christmas coming in July. Still, there's some guilt there—deep inside of me. I don't know what I could ever do to get rid of it. She's gone and that's that. I need to get over it.

Just like I need to figure out what I'm going to do about Krystal. Am I finally going to make a move or just keep harboring this secret crush like a coward?

 

“Hi,” she says, looking up from the spot where she's squatting, surrounded by tombstones.

I know this sounds creepy considering the circumstances,
but every time I see Krystal Bentley she gets prettier. At first I thought I was just being dramatic, sounding like some dude in a chick flick, but it's really true. It started when she first came to Settleman's High and I saw her get off the bus. We became friends and I began hearing her voice all the time. That only added to what I liked about her. Now, this summer, since we're connected by the Mystyx stuff, I see her at least a couple times a week. I actually look forward to it.

Her hair looks soft. But I never touch it, because, well, I don't know. I just don't.

“Hi.” Finally, words—or should I say
a
word—tumbles out of my mouth. I swear she must think I'm the biggest loser ever. “What's up?”

There, now I've said three words. Let the celebration begin.

“I want you to see what I found,” she says, and stands up slowly.

Krystal's about three or four inches shorter than me. She has on shorts that seem really short. Or maybe her legs are just really long. God, could I be a bigger geek?

“What'd you find?” Clearing my throat so it doesn't crack and I end up sounding like one of the Chipmunks. I shift from one foot to the other. Maybe she won't notice how nervous I get around her. Well, why wouldn't she? After all, I'm stumbling over words and dancing around like I've gotta pee. Please, get a grip.

All right, take a deep breath and stop it. Silently admonishing myself usually helps me get my act together. I mean, since my dad isn't around a lot, I usually don't have anyone telling me what to do. So I sort of just tell myself what to do. And that little tidbit I'll keep to myself.

Now, okay, she's a girl and I'm a boy. It's cool. Everything's cool.

“It's a grave,” she says.

Well, I guess I could have figured that out, since we're in a cemetery. “Whose grave?”

She doesn't answer, just steps to the side so I can see for myself.

William Beaumont Kramer

Beloved Son

August 1933–

“My great-uncle's grave.”

“I had this feeling, like right here in the pit of my stomach,” she says, wrapping an arm around her midsection.

She's wearing a charm bracelet, silver with a couple of charms hanging from it. I wonder what they are. Again, wanting to touch her.

“Nobody's there, but somebody is. They want something. I'm getting kind of used to it now, their calling.”

“The ghosts?”

“The spirits. I like to think of them as wayward spirits now. Ghost sounds scary and I'm not afraid anymore—not of them anyway. So, it started out like a nagging feeling when I woke up this morning. I ran some errands with my mom, you know she's helping out with that church bazaar.”

I nod because I remember her telling us about this a few weeks ago. Krystal's mom is really active in the local church now. I think it's Baptist but I'm not sure because we never go. Still, I think it's helping Krystal and her mom get closer and it's probably what helps Krystal deal with the ghosts—or rather, spirits. I don't know how exactly, but it seems to make sense.

“Anyway, the whole time I'm at church the feeling gets stronger, more persistent. I went and just sat in a corner, thinking about the feeling, opening myself up to whatever was trying to get in contact with me.”

Krystal sounds like a real medium now—whatever that is. I've never heard a medium talk before. But what I mean is that she sounds like she knows what she's doing, how to handle her power and all that.

“I kept waiting for a voice or an image to appear but there was nothing. Just this sensation and this urge to go someplace. The urge led me here. When I looked down at the stone and saw the name, I called you.”

“Because he was my great-uncle.”

“But I thought your grandfather said he just disappeared. Not that he died.”

I shrug because I don't know the right thing to say. “I guess he would have died sooner or later.”

“But did he die here in Lincoln? Is his body really buried here?” She looks back down at the tombstone. “There's no date of death.”

I nod. She's right. That was the first thing I noticed after seeing the gravestone. “And he's not here? I mean, he hasn't said anything to you and you haven't seen him, or his gh…spirit?”

“No.”

“Odd.”

“Nothing new there,” she says with a chuckle.

Did I mention I love to hear her laugh?

She didn't do that a lot when we first met. But now, as time has gone on, she's relaxed and she laughs more.

It's still hot out here. The sun's blazing down on us even
though there are large shade trees in the cemetery. But she looks cool and pretty, not drenched in sweat like me.

“I guess I can ask Pop Pop if he remembers anything else about his brother or if his parents said anything about burying him here. I don't see why they would go through all the trouble of marking a grave if he isn't really here.”

“Something's here,” she says quietly. “I can feel it. I just don't know what or who. All I know is it's a warning. It's in the air, all around this area. It's like a warning that's meant for us.”

“Of course it's meant for us. Any and everything freaky in this town is meant for us,” I say as I walk away from Krystal toward the headstone next to my uncle's. It reads James Balderson. I wonder who he was or how he died.

“It's creepy here.” I don't know what else to say. I don't have answers but I feel like Krystal and I should be talking about something. I mean, we're here in the cemetery and there's nobody else. Unless you count the dead and they're not gonna talk to me. “Looking at each headstone makes me wonder about each person, who they were before they died.”

“I come here a lot.”

I turn. She's walking right behind me. “You do?”

She shrugs. “I don't think I really have a choice. Sometimes it's peaceful, other times it's a madhouse.”

She smiles like she wasn't quite sure if I was going to get the humor or not. I smile back.

“So what were you doing when I called?”

“Just stuff.”

“You want to go and do something else now?” she asks.

I trip and stumble, trying to catch myself before I end up eating dirt and looking like more of a dork than I already do.
She grabs my arm, which makes me feel about two feet tall. Steadying myself, I pull away from her.

“Sorry,” she mumbles.

“No.” I sigh. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. “It's not you.”

We walk a little more until I realize we're leaving the cemetery. It makes sense, I don't like graveyards. And while Krystal might feel some connection here, I just feel…weird.

“You hungry?” I ask once we get to the front gates.

“Sure.”

“Maggie's is just down the block.”

She nods and starts to walk that way. I walk beside her, on the side of the sidewalk near the curb because that's what Pop Pop says men should do.

Maggie's is Lincoln's hippest carry-out. On Main Street across from the library there's Jeb's Diner, but that has an old-time feel with a menu full of meat loaf, pot roast, mashed potatoes and vegetables. Maggie's serves pizza, subs, fries. They also have this bar full of miscellaneous stuff like eggrolls and bean pies.

“So if your uncle's not buried there, I wonder who is?” Krystal asks as we walk.

“I wonder why they would even put the headstone there if his body is someplace else.”

“Do you think he tried to run away from his powers?”

“I don't know how he could. Wherever he went, the powers went with him.”

“Which means if he left Lincoln and maybe married and had kids, then they would have powers, too.”

I shake my head. “No. I don't think so. The power is from the storms. Remember, Fatima said Styx controls the moon and the sun. That's how we got our supernatural powers.”

“And we're supposed to use them to fight the Darkness.”

“Right.”

By this time we're at Maggie's. We walk down the street, talking and not really paying attention to much else. Not that there's anything else going on in Lincoln anyway. There are a couple of other shops on the other side of the street—a place that sells tacky costume jewelry, an antique store and Jerry Madison's mom's crafts store.

Coming to the light we wait, then cross the street. I get to the door first and open it for her. Pop Pop would be proud of me. He'd say, “See, Jakey boy…” Yes, he still calls me that even though I'm almost sixteen years old. He'd say, “See, Jakey boy, chivalry ain't dead, no matter what you young people think.”

So I'm being chivalrous with Krystal. I wonder if she notices or if it's even something she appreciates. I really wonder if this is how Franklin treated her. Franklin's gone now, I know that. And she knows that. But still, he was her boyfriend first. That still makes me angry.

Krystal heads to a booth near the back. It's like she's reading my mind. Not that I don't want to be seen with her, that's definitely not the case. It's just that a lot of kids hang out here, especially on hot summer afternoons. Either they're at the pool or in here eating and playing video games. I don't want to be bothered with any other kids. I just want to have a slice of pizza with Krystal.

So once we sit down she looks at me like she's been waiting forever for me to sit across from her. “What?” I ask before I can think of whether it's right or wrong.

“Why do you do that?”

“What?” I say again and feel like a parakeet.

“Whenever you're around a lot of people you look down or away, and you hunch down like you don't want anybody to see you.”

She's smart. “I don't.”

“Why?”

I look at her for a minute, this time thinking about what I want to say first. There's so much I want to say, so much that I think about all the time, but I don't know if she really wants to hear it. Of course she doesn't, nobody does. I already know the answer.

“I don't know why I do it. Just a habit, I guess. No big deal.”

She's drumming her fingers on the table. She does that a lot. It pisses Sasha off, but I usually ignore it.

“What do you want to eat?” she asks and sort of smiles a little.

“Do you miss him?” I blurt out and want to bite my tongue off the minute I do.

She blinks, looks at me, then looks away. She picks up the menu and looks at it. “Do I miss whom?”

No going back now. “Franklin.”

Her eyes stay glued to the menu even though I know she already knows what's on it and what she's going to order—pizza.

She finally shrugs. “I don't know.”

I think she does, but it's probably best not to continue this conversation. I mean, it's not really cool to talk about the ex when you're on a date. But this isn't really a date. We're just hanging out. I want to go on a date with Krystal—have for a very long time. But just like a lot of other things I want, it'll probably never happen.